Aesthetic Value
by Phantom Fox
Summary: Why were we created? Was it for pride? Love? Or was it arrogance? Yes. It was for nothing but pride that we were made...Oneshot.


Hmm... Welp. I guess this is my contribution to the whole 'how were Krad and Dark created' section of the D.N. Angel fandom. I hope you guys enjoy it.

**Warnings**:: Surprise surprise, no warnings needed. For this story, at least...

* * *

It was for pride, and pure aesthetic value, that we were created. 

My other half might not remember; it was, after all, before our birth, and who remembers the moment of conception but the ones who conceived?

But I remember; what's more, I know—I was part of our creator, after that one, unspeakable mistake, well over four hundred years ago...

— —

The Hikari clan had grown arrogant, and decided to do what only gods should attempt; they tried to create perfection.

It would be magnificent, this artwork of theirs; more known than the Mona Lisa, more perfect than Michaelangelo's David, more beautiful than Botticelli's Birth of Venus.

They searched long and hard, selecting only the best materials for their creation. The thinnest brushes for minute details; fan shapes for great swathes of texture; they found brushes that were made with the hair of the most beautiful horses and the fur of the rarest creatures ever seen.

Pigments were gathered, pigments of the purest, deepest black; the brightest vermillion; hand made shades of white, and green; and the rarest tints of blue and violet were among the colors they selected for their masterpiece.

Thoughts of beauty and perfection consumed the clan for decades as the materials needed were located, collected, and stored jealously. Secrecy was the code word for the master artists of the Hikari, until the preparations were complete.

And finally... Finally, the work was ready to be undertaken.

It was with pride that the humans chose their best artist; a young genius who had been trained for this from the day he could hold a brush steadily; it was with arrogant humility that the masters acted as apprentices, mixing the long readied mineral fragments into delicately coloured paints, giving the youngling whichever brush he required, and cleaning up the messes that he left at the end of the day.

It was years before anyone but the young artist and a few select masters were allowed to see his creation.

So, was it unnatural that this artwork, this masterpiece, this... Perfection would not go unnoticed?

No. It was rumored, gossiped about, wondered at by the unworthy.

That was how a thief, a youngling in his own right, heard of it, and began lusting after the painting, wishing it for his own. He began planning, waiting for the perfect moment; waiting until the masterpiece was finished.

One night, at long last, the artist sent away all of his master/apprentices, and prepared to place the last strokes of paint upon the canvas. The thief waited, eyes gleaming in the darkness, waiting—

The brush was laid aside, and the youngling sighed with love and accomplishment, gazing at his art—

The young thief leapt, stealing the painting and a single kiss from startled, protesting lips—

But suddenly—

Something—

Broke.

The artist felt anger-rage-hate burning inside him, eating away the shock as quick as it came.

How _dare_ this commoner touch _his_ painting, his soul—! How dare he take what does not belong to him!!!

His rage manifested, turning him into a creature of long blonde hair, and frozen, golden eyes. It turned him into a magnificent demon with boundless hate and strength.

The thief's mischief and joy at the theft-rape of the masterpiece transformed him as well, changing him into a graceful, long limbed dancer, his eyes crystallizing to a beautiful amethyst, his hair darkening to a silky, spiky violet.

The painting had begun channeling half aware, half-sentient emotions through the two, through both thief and artist; its joy at being created, the rage for being taken, love for its creator, and hatred--so much hate--at never being seen by any other person. It had split, dividing into halves at the exact moment the thief's lips touched the Hikari's, the moment that both of the chosen hosts were joined,the painting sent its power surging through the two humans to change them, forever.

— —

It was their fault. Their fault that we were created, and then forced apart.

All because of those cursed Hikari, and their lust for power, and the thrice damned thief, that we, that Krad and Dark were made; separate entities, but half of the same whole, never again to be joined in harmony...

Dark has forgotten, or chooses to forget how we came to be.

I remember; I will continue to relive those first, new moments of joy and hope, agony and rage.

Because when I kill my playful thief, I want him to remember, even if I have to force him to. Even if he kills me before he dies, he will remember…

We were created for no purpose, and we will die without a purpose.

We are nothing but arrogant beauty.

* * *

_FIN

* * *

_

A Not So Quick Note:

Originally, I had planned to use Japanese artwork _instead_ of the Italian Renaissance pieces, but I couldn't find any that I liked enough to put in here. ((Read as:: I was lazy.)) Plus, I figured that most people would knew these more than they would Japanese artwork. At least I got the timeline right; all of three of these were created in the 1500 to 1600's, which is when ((I'm going by the manga, here)) Krad and Dark were supposed to have been created, or seperated, or whatever you prefer. And yes, the master painters wouldn't normally have mixed their own paints, cleaned up after themselves, or anything else; most of that work was done by apprentices, unless it was something really special, or really expensive. For example, the really, really pretty blue in the painting of The Girl With The Pearl Earring was made with lapis-lazuli, a semi precious stone that came from really, really, _really_ far away.

That's all for now. I'm done. Really.


End file.
